The Trials of Mary Winchester
by Alizalya
Summary: Deals don't just go away. Tricky little things, full of nasty little clauses and consequences. You have to follow the rules. They never found her or John in heaven. This is what really happened to Mary Winchester.
1. Prologue

**So this is my theory on what really happened to Mary, why no one could find her in heaven**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters, just this plot.**

**Please read and review, constructive criticism would be very appreciated, and let me know where you'd like this story to go.**

How Sam managed to wake up every night at the same time never ceased to amaze her. Mary tried to blink the sleep from her eyes, thanking God Dean had grown out of this. She shook John's shoulder, and received unintelligible baby talk for her trouble. She couldn't find it in her to be annoyed, it was too cute. It seemed she was raising three children. With a deep sigh, she pushed her blankets away and went to get Sammy.

But when she got there, it was not what she expected. It was _him_. It all happened so fast. She didn't think, she just moved forward, there had to be something, anything that she could do. As fast as she had moved she was on the ceiling, and there was a flair of agony across her stomach. She screamed. He was here, and she was dying, and she couldn't move, she couldn't see. It was too quiet, and she was bleeding, and her mind was racing.

_What did he do to Sammy is Sammy okay what happened where's John where's John is he gonna hurt Dean oh God no John you have to help them and it hurts and why does it hurt where are you John where are you_

The silence was broken and "No! Mary!" was all she heard before she was consumed by flames.

_Oh thank God Johns here is __**he**__ here Where did he go and and what is that smell like meat like pork oh god no it hurts it burns i'm burning John and oh John help me it hurts and the fire it's everywhere John you have to help him the house the fire John I need you Sam is still in here and you have to get Dean! John you need to He did something to Sam John John SAVE OUR BABY what did he do to him John John I love you..._

When she woke up, she was somewhere else. It was hot, and dark, and she was surrounded by screams. She got up, and walked, surprised that she was able to do so as she saw that she was the only one. Far above her, others were held in place, on racks, on chains. _On hooks_. And there was so much blood. The entire place seemed tinted red. She was the only one that could move. She knew where she was, and so wasn't surprised when _he_ appeared behind her. His smile managed to be both mocking and condescending.  
"You shouldn't have interrupted." he tisked. "I did warn you." And with that, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.

And suddenly she couldn't move. She had violated her end of the deal. That was why she was here. But why wasn't she being tortured? She was surrounded by pain but separate from it. No chains. No knives. No hooks. Why?

She wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't this. Everything went dark. The screaming had stopped. The red was gone. She was floating, the center in a sphere. she could move again, but she couldn't go anywhere. No matter how she she kicked her feet, or moved her arms, she stayed dead center. There was nothing to push her feet against, nothing for her hands to grab onto. In every direction, just out of her reach, was a wall of dark fog.

Was this her fate? Eternity of nothing? Would he come back? Would she be left here? Would she go mad? Would she become one of them? Hours must have passed, but there was no change, nothing but the dark. She had screamed, and cursed, and kicked, and clawed, until her voice was hoarse and she couldn't move. When she finally slumped over, finally, finally, there was a change. Colors appeared on the wall, sounds came clearly as reds and yellows assaulted her eyes. It was a place, a scene.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"


	2. The Early years

**Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural or any of the characters**  
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Time moved slowly, but with heartbreaking clarity. Mary had hoped, from the moment the world formed around her, that it would be too slow. That the crawling pace of the visions would be to drawn-out to follow. That the stretch of sound would make words unintelligible. However, as quickly as they came, the thoughts were torn away as logic filtered through. As if a demon would show her mercy? Even if it were just a demon at play, mercy was nothing but a tool at best; a mirage placed just far enough away to break a stubborn toy. And dread pooled in her stomach with the knowledge that this wasn't a demon, but _the_ demon. The demon that killed her parents; the demon that had been laying groundwork for ten years; the demon that went after Sam and who knew how many others. As much as she'd like to think it was a grudge, this was a demon with an agenda, and she had the horrible feeling that her lack of physical torment wouldn't be made up by just watching the grieving of her family, let alone with the option of distraction.

So it came as no surprise that she observed the scene with a horrific comprehension as her brain adapted. She heard every sound, every inflection, and every emotion in every part of every word. She saw every moment, every curl of smoke, every clue of every thought etched on the face of every member of her family as they moved at less than snail's pace to escape the house. She tried to look away as her traitorous mind recognized the shock and pain and fear, and was partially successful, while she remained in place in her little bubble, the entire pseudo-world shifted with her movement to change her place in it.  
She walked carefully through the scene, taking in everything. Unfortunately, turning away from the scene made her miss less than blinking.

As it turned out, this-existence?-was a double edged sword. What she saw was worse than anything she could have anticipated, but by viewing it she got to see her children grow up. It was almost worth it.

Almost.

Sometimes she'd forget herself while watching them sleep. They were so peaceful then. When they drifted off she'd hum or whisper the lyrics to "Hey Jude" so quietly, but she could swear they heard it. Sam probably wouldn't ever remember her singing it. Dean slept a lot less these days. So often he waited up for his father. He tried to hide his fears, and his nightmares. When she sang she willed them to go away. She never prayed for a miracle for herself. Let her stay trapped. Let her be tortured. Let this be her eternity. But let her voice, just her voice, punch through the dimensions by her will alone, to soothe her boys.

She watched, trapped, as her family became the one thing she never wanted them to be. Unable to help as her children grew up without a mother, and basically without a father too. She memorized everything about them she could, even as the horrible weight of it tried to crush her. Dean's childhood was ripped from him as he became Sam's only real parental figure. He tried to shelter his little brother for as long as possible, and take care of his father. When he started shooting he was a natural. Instincts like a hunter, like a Campbell. And damn if that didn't just tear her heart out. Dean wanted to be just like his Dad. He was heavily protective of his baby brother, which wasn't helped by the fact that he _a child_ became his protector, and held the guilt of every failure to protect little Sammy. He didn't grow up right and it showed. He loved hunting, but she suspected it provided an outlet. He loved pie. He indulged in it as well as greasy diner food and sex. None were particularly healthy, but at least in the later two there's an outlet that doesn't involve killing something.

Sam was more like his father. He was headstrong and stubborn. This did not bode well as he struggled under the weight of his father and brother's rule. He tried so hard to prove himself. He got more of a childhood, but not what would be considered healthy. His favorite color was green. Whenever he needed anything, from clothes to shoes to advice, he asked his brother. He and John butted heads at least once a month, usually more. He tried to be healthy. He was more shy than dean, but more likely to get attached to people. In his own way, he took care of Dean as well. He inevitably entered the dreaded broody phase of adolescence. He tried so hard to be normal. He wanted it so much. He hadn't shown any signs of the demon's interference, whatever it was.

Mary believed herself to be a strong woman. She was a Campbell, a hunter, an orphan, a wife, and a mother, and she thought she held up pretty damn well, and she prayed to God and the angels that her tormentor didn't hear the sob that escaped her when she realized her son's rebellion, the big wedge in the Winchester family, was wanting to go to college, to make something of himself. The fact that he persevered through an entire childhood training as a hunter, seeing and doing things that shouldn't be expected of anyone-let alone a child, wanted to break out of "the family business" and start a life? She was sure it would have shredded her even if she hadn't been in the same place.

And then there was John.

She choked out a laugh,_ 'Guess girls really do marry their father'._

She's known him so well. _She had_. He was stubborn, strong, kind, proud, thoughtful, loving, and most of all willing to do anything to protect his loved ones. The last trait was warped now, twisted. The man she knew was dead. Slowly killed to be replaced by the vengeance filled hunter that dragged her boys across the country. The man she loved stamped out by a grief-stricken vigilante on a suicide mission.

Guilt, rage, and pain warred within her. She wanted to hug him again. She wanted to sob with John, her John, holding her safe. She wanted to stop this, to bring some sense back to him. She wanted to grab him by his hair and slap him, hit him, tear him apart for what he did. She wanted none of this to be real. Just a trick, a tool of torment by the cruelest creatures in creation. It could so easily be true. So why couldn't she make herself believe it?

She would forever be indebted to Robert Singer. He was an alcoholic hunter with the standard tragic back-story equipped by all first generation hunters. He didn't tolerate bullshit. He had a rather surly attitude but was incredibly loyal, dependable, and family oriented. He backed the aliases of the new age with the walls lined with phones dedicated to organizations of authority. And he was so much to her boys. He was the one to give them a break, to let them be kids for a while, to help and teach them. It turned out that he was the one to teach Sam how to throw a football. Finally there was a father figure, or at least a role model. Someone who had their best interests as the first priority.

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**That seems like a good place to stop. Sorry it took so long. I do have a plan for this, if i can get off my lazy ass and write it. I'm sorry for any errors, please tell me about them and I'll fix them asap. Please keep in mind that I don't have a beta and I'll admit i'm kinda rusty at writing. I'll probably rewrite this story at some point when my skills improve, but this story's been in the back of my head for ages. If there's anything you want me to write specifically (a scene, an episode, etc.) please just let me know. I'm not sure how I want to pace it. If you hadn't noticed i'm glazing over a lot of childhood. Warning: this will eventually contain spoilers for seasons 1-8. The story is more passive right now, it will get more active later. She can't stay locked up forever, can she? Thanks for reading!**


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